Let's Go Back
by Cinerari
Summary: Credo's younger brother was nothing but trouble, never listening, always misbehaving. Still, Nero was part of the family, and Credo couldn't stand to see him hurt.


**Sweats nervously. Never written for this fandom before, so I wanted to test writing the characters a bit. That just turned into ramblings about Credo and Nero being brothers because I'm a sucker for sad brothers. I also just like writing boys getting injured haha.**

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I knew of Nero before our parents introduced us to him. Everyone knew of him. Not many infants just appeared on the steps of the orphanage. He was the talk of the town for a while, an abandoned child with frays of white hair. People speculated that he had albinism, but seeing him in person, I found his eyes far too blue for that to be the case.

He didn't seem interested in us, his eyes stuck in their corners as he glared at the adhesive bandage on his cheek. Another one adorned his jaw, and one hid behind his bangs. He had palm-sized ones on each knee, a matching one on his elbow, and a small one or two wrapped around almost every finger.

Kyrie, being about his age, gaped at his hair color. None of us paid much attention to our parents' standard introductions – "Nero, this is Credo and Kyrie," and so on. Nero began picking at the bandage on his cheek until Mom clasped her hand around his. "No-no," she said in the same babying voice she used with Kyrie. "It won't heal if you mess with it."

His brow furrowed, and he looked up at her as though he couldn't make sense of her words.

"How did you manage to get so many scratches anyhow?" I asked. I could feel Dad's disapproving stare, and I realized I'd forgotten the whole "nice to meet you" bit.

Kyrie helpfully forgot it too. "Why is your hair that color?" she asked. "Did you get scared?"

I'd never seen a child look quite as at home as Nero did when he looked angry, puffing his cheeks and glowering at Kyrie. Before I could tell him off for it, he turned tail and dashed toward the street.

"Nero!" mom called.

"Not again," Dad sighed.

Before Kyrie could go rushing off into the street after him, I sucked in a breath. "I'll get him!" I said as I raced toward the alley he darted into. There was no way he could outrun me on those stubby legs of his. I was the fastest kid in my class and almost twice his height.

But if not for the bright white flash of his hair, I might have lost him. He dipped around crates and trash cans as though he'd memorized all the back alleys. His feet tapped out a quick, unfaltering rhythm, and I only managed to lock him in my sights once he swung around a corner and out into another open street.

People jumped out of our way with grumbles and yells. I rolled my eyes as someone snapped that my parents would hear about this. "Sorry!" I called back, trying to sound genuine.

As Nero neared a bridge, I felt the lack of air starting to get to me. My lungs tore apart with each gasping breath, and the gap between us didn't seem any smaller than when I'd started after him. "Nero!" I screamed through my quick bids for breath. "Wait! Mom and Dad will worry!"

The pulse of his feet against the pavement slowed to a stop as he reached the crest of the bridge. His hair glowed gold in the setting sun as he turned back to look at me. Despite the confusion twisting his features, fear pooled in his eyes. That look, like a startled animal, was enough to make me halt at the foot of the bridge. With my hands on my knees, I hunched over and wheezed until I felt stable enough to speak.

"It's okay," I said. "Come on, let's go back."

His eyes darted around as though searching his options. He took a step back, shaking his head.

"Is it because of what Kyrie said?" I asked. "She didn't mean to upset you. She doesn't always think before she talks." He still didn't respond. I was starting to wonder if he could. "Was it what I said? I'm sorry-"

The words caught in my throat as his eyes locked on the bridge's railing. "No!" I screeched as he scrambled up onto it. "No-no-no!"

By some will of Sparda, my legs got me there in time to lock my hand around his ankle as he dropped. He swung like a pendulum, his arms dangling several meters above the water's surface. Digging my heels in, I snapped my other hand around my weakening grip. The railing bit into my ribs as I fought to keep from going over with him.

He certainly wasn't helping, wriggling in my grasp like a caught fish. "Let go!" he screamed, his anger not quite masking fear. In any other situation, I might have been happy to hear him speak for the first time.

"No! You'll get hurt, you idiot!"

"I get hurt all the time!" His free foot kicked at my wrists, the little demon.

"If you go in, I'm going in after you!" I snapped. "I'm not going to let you get hurt anymore! I'm your brother! It's my job to protect you!"

He halted, dangling there in silence. His shirt had bunched up by his neck, and I could see more bandages plastered along his back. Dad appeared out of nowhere, looking almost as pale as Nero, and helped me haul him back over the edge.

"W-what were you thinking, Nero?" Dad panted as he set the kid back on his feet.

Nero blinked up at him, glanced to me, and took hold of my hand. "I dunno," he said. "But is'okay. Credo fixed it." He swung the hand clasped with mine and rocked back on his heels as though we'd been friends all along.

No matter how we asked, he never gave us an explanation for why he ran off or why he thought jumping off a bridge was a good idea. But Nero rarely had an explanation for all the messes he created. I had to assume there was no filter in his head for bad ideas, and he carried out every thought that occurred to him.

It was a good thing I'd sworn to protect him because someone had to do it. Our medicine cabinet was jammed full of every size and shape of bandage, yet we always seemed to run out of the ones we needed.

I'd turn around, and he would be there, covered in fresh cuts and scrapes. "I fell out of a tree," or "I got into a fight," he'd say. Other times he refused to tell me what had happened.

When we were too far from the house, I'd have him hop up on my back, and I'd carry him to the closest store with bandages. I'd memorized the locations of all of them. Often, Kyrie would trail alongside us and explain exactly what happened, needling out all of Nero's lies as he grumbled by my ear about how she was a tattletale.

Somehow, it got worse after our parents died, but by that point he wouldn't let me carry him anymore. He knew how to bandage his own wounds, and he refused my help. I didn't need Kyrie to tell me what sort of trouble landed him his busted lips and black eyes. The whole town saw fit to whisper about what a "menace" he was. They spoke about how flippant he was, how he never listened to reprimand.

But that wasn't true. He didn't listen when being yelled at or insulted. Hell, he may not have listened to anyone but me. But when I softened my voice and told him how disappointed I was, his proud stance fell. He dropped his gaze and slumped his shoulders, mumbling an apology.

I did believe him to be legitimately sorry, but that didn't stop him from misbehaving again and again. I was beginning to doubt he could ever be accepted into the Holy Knights with his track record. At the rate things were going, I would need to become the captain to have any chance to bring him on, but he was determined to join.

"You can teach me some swordplay today, right?" he asked at breakfast, as he usually did.

"Not today," I answered with a sigh. "I work a double shift. I'm on patrol tonight."

He dropped his chin into his palm, his eyes already glazed from things he didn't want to hear. "You're always on patrol. Does anyone else ever patrol?"

"There's a lot of Fortuna to look after." Reaching over, I ruffled his un-brushed hair. I couldn't help but smile as the cowlicks all returned to form and his lips settled into a pout. "I should have time off the day after tomorrow, so behave until then."

"Don't ask the impossible," Kyrie said before shoving toast in her mouth.

"You behave plenty for the both of us," Nero said, swiping her other piece of toast.

I slipped away from the table before things could get ugly and snagged the bathroom while they were preoccupied with barking insults at each other. Luckily, they never stayed too mad for too long. As I grabbed my sword and headed for the door, I called a reminder over my shoulder. "Clean up after yourselves, and don't be late for your lessons."

Nero, sunk down in his chair, offered a lazy wave. He had a purple stain of jam in his hair. Kyrie sat with a look of triumph and sipped her coffee. She was the only person I knew who could always best Nero somehow.

After a day spent training, my arms and back ached during my night patrol. It was The Order's way of whipping the younger Knights into shape. It just made me hope nothing went wrong during my patrols because I hardly had the energy to face anything too troublesome.

They placed me on the east edge of the city, where there had been reports of monster sightings. Always reports. I rarely saw any evidence that these reports were true, but I couldn't blame citizens for being wary. If they all knew how bad the demon situation was growing to be, they would have been far more paranoid.

But the east side of town was usually dead. That was why I sparred with Nero in the area. No more than a handful of spread-out knights were ever stationed there. Often, that included me. The shift had just the right amount of boredom and silence to make me nod off, even as I paced my perimeter.

Despite my eyelids threatening to close every few minutes, my exhaustion vanished at the sound of blades clashing. The sound came from within the forest, somewhere down the well-worn path. When a Knight on patrol engaged a demon, they needed to send up a signal to let the others in the area know of the trouble. Where there was one demon, there was always more.

But either this wasn't a Knight fighting a demon, or they were in too much of a pinch to bother with a signal. Neither of those options sounded preferable because I knew that path well. It was the same one Nero and I used to reach our training spot. I didn't need that area infested with demons.

As I raced down the path, avoiding any tree roots that could trip me up, I heard steel ringing against steel once again. I knew where the sound came from. I didn't need to see it to confirm that. It had to be at the clearing we used for practice. My sinking gut told me as much.

And if that was the spot, it had to be him. It had to be Nero, fighting someone, something. I didn't care if it was human or demon. I would kill anyone who attacked my brother.

My blood roared in my ears, drowning out the crunch of my boots against dirt and leaves. Still, I heard his scream. It made my blood run cold, my legs hollow and empty. Nero's pain echoed in the empty night air, and my hand found my sword.

Rage buzzed through my head, numbed my senses. I felt nothing but my heart pounding in my chest, saw nothing but the blood on that demon's blade of an arm. It died quickly in a burst of sludge and ash, my sword cleaving it in two. I would have been content to make it suffer, if demons truly could suffer, but I didn't have time.

Nero's hair caught the moonlight like a beacon, reflecting it like the gleaming practice sword I'd loaned him. He still clutched it in one hand, the other held across his gut. Pain burned in his eyes, but as I dropped to my knees beside him, he fought his way to a smile. "I know-I know," he said, his voice raw with pain. "'Don't go off alone at night, Nero. Don't use the sword without me there. You'll stab yourself, you idiot.'" His attempt to lower his voice and mock me erased his voice altogether. He whispered the words.

"Shut up," I hissed, yanking off my coat. "You should have known better. You should have-"

"I did. But you should have seen it." That fire in his eyes burned, bright enough to promise me a few more minutes before I lost him. "I got that thing, Credo. I got it." He breathes a laugh despite his shallow gasps for air. The wound stretched from his left shoulder to his right hip. The demon must have thrown his guard open, just as I did so often during practice. We were still working on that.

"You should have run," I said. As I cinched my jacket around his wound, he hissed and clenched his eyes shut.

"Your bedside manner could use some work," he said. I couldn't understand how he could be so calm. It made me want to knock some sense into him, but I grit my teeth and pulled him up onto my back, hooking my arms under his legs.

"Just stay awake," I snapped. "But don't talk too much. Keep pressure on the wound."

"Yes, sir," he grumbled, dropping his forehead against my shoulder. "Hm, won't my blood ruin your jacket? White was a bad color choice."

"It's fine, but get your head up. You'll fall asleep." Letting one of his legs drop, I pulled a flare from my pocket, yanked the pin out with my teeth and tossed it skyward. I had to hope the other Knights would see the stream of fire before any other demons.

"It'll be fine," Nero said, his voice muffled by my shoulder. "You get all weird when you're worried, but come on. We've done this a thousand times."

"What are you talking about?" I spat as I raced back along the trail. Being jostled must have hurt him because his hand latched onto the shoulder he wasn't smothering himself in and squeezed hard enough to assure me he was still quite alive. If he could still feel pain, he had to be alright.

"Always carrying me," he said, his voice thinned. "Always getting me patched up after fights."

He either trusted me too much or had lost so much blood that he didn't understand how much danger he was in. Either way, I felt sick. He thought I could save him from even this, just because I'd fixed some scraped knees. "This isn't the same," I said. "Stay focused."

"It's the same. Like at the bridge. You're always protecting me from being stupid." He breathed a laugh. "That's your job. Ah, I'm sorry. Always causing trouble."

He sounded as regretful as when he apologized to me for picking a fight with a classmate. He always apologized when he brought the family trouble, when he made me so stressed I couldn't find the energy to scold him.

"I'll do better," he whispered. "Don't worry. I'll do better."

I wanted to tell him he didn't need to do better, but it was a lie, and I no longer had the air to speak as I ran. I wanted to be the one to do better, to protect him and Kyrie. If I'd been better at raising him after our parents died, he wouldn't have gotten into so many fights. The town wouldn't have scorned him. If I'd trained him better, he wouldn't have been injured by that demon.

He was too young to worry about fighting demons, too young to be hated for teenage rebellion.

When he woke in the hospital the next day, his eyes glazed from whatever drugs they gave him, I ruffled his already-messed hair and sighed. "You did well to injure that demon. Just try to keep your guard up so you can kill them without getting yourself hurt again. We'll have to redouble our training efforts."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "I did kill it. Second bastard was the one that got me."

At the time, I felt certain his memory of the fight was clouded, but once he joined the order, once I saw him truly fight demons, I understood that he'd told the truth. Killing demons came naturally to him. He sniffed the beasts out like a bloodhound, always aware of their presence in a fight.

That didn't keep him from injury. His uniform was sent to be cleaned more than any other, always stained by blood and covered in a patchwork of stitch jobs. Still, it fit him well. He complained about all the white looking ridiculous alongside his hair, but the uniform was enough to make even him look stately. At least, it did until he opened his mouth and started spitting curses like one of the men from the pier.

The last day I saw him wear it, he worked a routine guard position near the church. I worked the desk that day, almost glued to it since I'd been promoted to captain. All I got were reports about how the demons swarmed in from the forest and how many injured we had. Both of their names were on the list, two blows to the gut for me.

The doctors said the cut on Kyrie's back looked worse than it was, but the way she winced every time she moved reminded me too much of when Nero had been recovering from his first fight. Just like back then, Kyrie kept patting my shoulder and cheek, assuring me that everything was fine.

"You're going to have so many worry lines if you keep this up," she said. "I'm fine. Nero was amazing. You should have seen him." Her eyes shone with the childish adoration she and Nero had given me when I first joined the order. It seemed I'd been usurped. "You should go check on him," she added with a huff. "They won't let me leave."

No one could tell me why he wasn't at the hospital along with her. The medics and other Knights who had been on duty answered with a resounding shrug. It seemed he'd left the scene after assuring Kyrie received attention.

I tracked him down to the house, where he lounged on the couch, his arm in a sling. He wore the odd outfit of darker colors that replaced his uniform when it needed repairs. Despite that, he still wore his ring. "Think I'm going to start carrying a gun," he said before I could even ask how he was feeling.

"Nero, we've been over this."

"Yeah-yeah, but I'm handicapped now anyway. More fair this way." He didn't bother looking at me, his gaze affixed to the ceiling.

"You use your sword just fine with your left hand."

He swiped at the bridge of his nose, his eyes darting to their corners. "She's broken."

"You broke Red Queen?"

"I mean, the demon broke it, but yeah."

Breathing a sigh, I placed my hand across my face. "Very well. You can use a gun while we work on fixing your sword. Just try not to make a commotion about it."

His brows shot up, and he finally locked his eyes with mine. "You're going to fix her?"

"Of course, but you should use a replacement in the meantime."

He rested his hand across his mouth, nodding. "Thanks," he said, so mumbled I almost couldn't make it out.

"No need to thank me. If I'd been there, this wouldn't have happened."

His brow furrowed at that, the hand over his mouth unable to hide the frown in his eyes. "You don't have to keep trying to protect me anymore," he said. "I'm not a little kid. I can handle myself." The look in his eyes darkened to a glare as they settled on me. "I know you keep babying me, putting me on lazy patrols and all that bullshit. It's not like the guys need more reasons to talk shit behind my back."

"You're injured." I'd meant it as a retort, but my voice was too soft.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see."

"No." He spoke with such finality, such assurance that it left me no room to argue. "I can take care of myself, Credo."

Those words rang in my head as I watched him fight Dante, as I tore myself away to get help, abandoning him.

He could take care of himself. He was strong, stronger than me, strong enough to know when to rebel. I suppose I should have expected as much, considering what a poor job I'd done raising him. I never had taught him to listen to authority beyond me, not that he would listen to me anymore either.

That was good. I would have led him to a slow, painful death through experimentation. I was nothing but a sheep for The Order, and by the time I realized I was being used, I was too weak to save him anymore. I could no longer catch him when he tried to jump, landing only in the crushing grip of the Savior.

I tried to protect him one last time. Dammit, at least I tried. I had no right to call him my brother anymore, but I still felt I had to carry out that promise. I needed to be there to keep him from getting hurt. I needed to protect him, to catch him.

Instead, he was the one trying to catch me, that strange, demonic hand of his shining as he reached for me. I could only wonder why he should bother.

Perhaps he'd wondered the same thing when I grabbed him by the ankle all those years ago - when he was just a small orphan who couldn't understand why someone would care to chase after him, why someone would try to keep him from harm.

After all our time together, I hoped he had grown to understand. I would have plunged into the water after him back then, just as I fell for him now. There was no water to catch me this time, only an endless darkness swallowing me up. The light of his hand was all I could see, until it too faded.


End file.
